


Say I Love You When You're Not Listening

by KALA



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Fake Marriage, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KALA/pseuds/KALA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s so cut and dry; the way he lays it out in his head. They had to get married for an op. He tries not to think about what it means or why he did it, he just cuts the emotions off and lets himself think the truth. He’s married to Phil Coulson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say I Love You When You're Not Listening

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work. Honestly it's been sitting on my computer never seeing the light of day. I figure I may as well upload it even though I keep on feeling like I should change it.

It’s so cut and dry; the way he lays it out in his head. They had to get married for an op. He tries not to think about what it means or why he did it, he just cuts the emotions off and lets himself think the truth. He’s married to Phil Coulson.

Surprisingly enough, it had been his suggestion. The mission had changed while they were in transit, and their human trafficker had switched locations last minute. They were landing in Niagara Falls when the Intel came through. He could see the narrowing at the corner of his partner’s eyes and they both knew they had to find a solution fast. Their target was slipping between the cracks and they had less than twenty-four hours before they lost him. 

There was no way they could show up in the small township and stay in one of the very few hotels without raising an alarm. The place was too tiny and the meticulous fact checking of their hit made things more complicated. If two guys that looked even remotely threatening, and were in the hotel room directly across the hall, they’d definitely have a bodyguard knocking on their door. 

Clint had seen the sign and told Coulson to slam on the breaks, already thinking.

“We don’t have time for aliases.” He said by way of explanation. “And you’re already wearing something expensive.”

He could see the slow clench and unclench of Phil’s jaw before he unbuckled his seatbelt and they walked into the quaint chapel. They signed their souls over before heading three hours into nowhere to chase some poor shmuck that never saw it coming. The unthreatening clothes they’d picked up and the lengthily explanation to the terrified-looking hotel staff about Phil’s sick mother was all they needed. 

It wasn’t until they were alone in the hotel together that Phil commented on the idea. “This will not end well.”

Clint’s facial features indicated ‘how could this not work? We have the perfect view of their room…?’ but then he saw the clenching of his left hand and he realized it was a personal matter.

They were married.

Phil Coulson and Clint Barton were married and it hit them like a ton of bricks. No aliases, no fake documents, and S.H.I.E.L.D would be getting those papers any moment now. He knew that Coulson had his hand against his pocket that he kept the personal phone in, and he was waiting for contact from Fury. Clint didn’t realize until after that the director hadn’t made a sound at all that mission, or the ones after it.

“Are you mad?” Clint asked after a few more moments of silence, positioning his chair so he could see out the window to watch the lights in the big guy’s room. He didn’t want to sound vulnerable, but he could tell some of it bled into his tone.

“No. That’s the problem.”

Clint was busy trying to decipher if Coulson was commending him on his quick thinking or if it meant something else entirely. Had he come up with a loophole and was now regretting signing the marriage certificate? He didn’t have time to think it through because suddenly all the lights went out and they both jumped into action.

He could still remember the moment when the pastor has turned to Agent Coulson and asked him if he’d prepared vows.

After they’d finished, Clint was dismissed by Fury before Phil could even look at him twice. Obviously the director had been busy and never received the red flag from human resources, because there was no way he’d send him home if he had. The specialist was almost embarrassed at how quickly he got out of there, and when Natasha asked him why he was jumpy he shrugged and made some crack excuse about a caffeine-overload. 

He’d probably written in the report that the marriage was nullified and then expected Clint to be the first to march down into the basement of the Hellicarrier to make it so. In his defense, he’d been sent on another mission, this one on the upside of a week-long, and while he was waiting on that apartment complex for the target to come home three hours later, he’d weighed the pros and cons.

Pro number one, he thought as he started checking over his equipment, somewhere down the road during a not-so-obvious lecture, when he really wants to get a rise out of the other man he can bring it up. Pro number two, if anything happens to Coulson, he’d be informed via protocol. Pro number three; he could shmooze his way through high-level clearance if he used the last name Coulson. The change over was so high in that department they wouldn’t think twice about checking WHICH Coulson. He tried to keep his list professional, not allowing anything emotional to bleed through.

Cons included one day when Fury threatened to throw him overboard if he didn’t go and finish what he started, that awkward moment when Coulson would come up to him with some story about a fiancé (that was the least likely, but somehow the idea irritated him), and the third had something to do with one of the pros. He’d get that letter handed to him, the one that every family member dreaded.

The archer had opened his mouth to say they didn’t have any vows, but then the senior agent turned to him, all trace of professionalism gone, and his mouth had clamped shut to hear what the other man had to say. 

Two months later, he’d gone under cover for basic reconnaissance despite his bitching that info gathering was NOT his specialty. Agent Hill had rubbed her forehead and tried to hide an irritated sigh at him. The mission wasn’t even a high priority and it certainly wasn’t dangerous. HE swore someone was trying to punish him, and maybe that was Phil’s point in all this. They hadn’t even supplied him with an alias, so he had to make up his own. Just to get back at the other man, he wrote down Christopher Coulson. 

He’d been tempted, for the first time in his S.H.I.E.L.D carrier, to put a heart or a smiley face on his form when he’d submitted his report. 

The first time someone had called him Chris Coulson, he’d had to stop himself from laughing, just imagining the look of unimpressed on Phil’s face when he read the report.

He was normally much more composed and professional than this, and he knew he should just cut the crap and go sign the papers, but every time he walked past that hallway something pulled him away.

For a long moment after Phil had finished his speech, Clint could only stare, and when he realized it was his turn he took in a deep, grounding breath. Two could play this game.

He wasn’t in love, thank you very much; that was ridiculous. He didn’t harbor anything but respect for his superior and he certainly wasn’t wishing it was REAL. Something just held him back, a gut intuition.

They understood each other. A simple tilt of the head meant ‘take them out’, a slow blink meant ‘leave me alone, I’m thinking’, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth meant he was hiding his amusement because at least one of them had to be professional. He just didn’t know how to explain that something was stopping him. Could he explain the twisting in his gut when he thought of Phil mentioning this in the future as a joke? He didn’t just marry anyone. He would have never suggested it if it had been anyone else. 

Was it his pride? Was it a joke? So many excused ran rampant through his head and eventually he placed it in the back of his head to ignore until something happened that he couldn’t anymore. They’d had their fair share of drinks, playful jabs, and rescuing to warrant the title. Despite knowing this was mixed up and not the right way to approach it at all, he couldn’t shake the fact that Phil wasn’t exactly dragging him to legal by his ear.

Which was why he was stunned into silence when he got the call.

“Hello, is this Clint Coulson?” 

“What?” He’d snapped after a moment of stupor.

“Can I please speak to Clint Coulson, this is Marianne Harris, and I’m the building manager? I’m really very sorry to be contacting you like this but your husband won’t answer the other number he gave us. It appears that his condo had been broken into and we need someone to come down and-”

He sputtered for a moment before his mind started working again, Coulson was with Natasha and he probably had no service on his cell nor a means to get back and deal with this. He nodded despite the fact that she couldn’t see him and began to take down notes. He’d never had an apartment that SHIELD hadn’t supplied for him, and he hadn’t dealt with something like this before.

“Was anything taken?” He asked after a few minutes of listening to her explain the procedure of coming down to the building and giving he cops a statement. 

“We don’t have a list at this point, we know the TV was for sure, but aside from the apartment being ransacked, it appears that most of the other valuables were left. We were hoping you could identify anything else.” She responded in a clipped tone. 

“I’ll be down there as soon as I can.”

He didn’t even think until way later that the bastard had put HIS surname on the form instead of the other way around. 

X

‘I need you. You keep me sane. I feel like when hear your voice in my ear I know everything, we, -I- will be okay. You’ve always had my attention, even when I pretend I’m ignoring you. I don’t think I’ve ever felt safe closing my eyes and being vulnerable in another person’s presence like I do with you. If I wake up tomorrow and this is still real, that we are actually married, I won’t ever let go of it. I promise.’

X

Two hours later he was standing at a building he’d never stepped foot in before in his life, in a condo he’d never seen before, reeling at how surreal this was. 

Left, right, and center he was being addressed as Mr. Coulson, and he had to remember he was supposed to respond naturally, like he was used to being called that. The police believed him when he said he didn’t have his wallet with him. He’d left it at work. He walked around the place Phil called home, peeking into each room curiously, trying to get a sense of if something wasn’t there that should have been. As he’d expected, the place looked like it was rarely used, but the personal touches of his superior were everywhere. 

The thief had actually tried to steal the bed, if you could believe it. So the mattress was off the box-spring and the sheets and comforter were gone. He couldn’t find, for the life of him, a spare set of sheets. Then again, Phil seemed like the type to efficiently wash his things all in one day and have them back on the bed before the sun was down. He assured Ms. Harris he’d just go get new ones with an easy smile. 

The archer sank into the cushion of the couch and stared at the picture on the end table. It was a photo of him, one he didn’t even know existed, and it was placed there for the soul purpose of ensuring the police that he at least KNEW Phil. He was loosing an arrow, mid shot, but he looked like he was in the practice range. In fact, that could have only been a month ago because he still had the stitches on his arm.

Mixed with feelings he wasn’t sure how to identify, he decided that by the time Phil came home most stores would be closed and he was a master at avoiding things when it came to personal issues. He marched down to Marianne’s office and asked for a spare key. She told him to give it back after since it was the only spare she had and she needed it if something happened and no one was there to open the doors for the police. He took it and went out, mindlessly buying a few things he knew Phil needed and then wandered back to the condominium. 

He put everything in place, cleaned up a bit, and then sat there for another hour before he realized he hadn’t eaten.

It was almost strange how he knew exactly where everything was. It all made perfect tactical sense to him. The awkward feeling of making supper in someone else’s house faded after a few minutes, and soon he’d made a simple supper and was just about to grab a plate when a key turned in the door. Clint tensed and waited out of sight in the kitchen, listening for the telltale steps of polished shoes. When he heard them he relaxed and started making enough noise for the other man to find him. 

“Mind telling me why I’m on the contact list?” He asked with his back turned, hearing keys kit the counter behind him. He wasn’t sure if he’d like the answer.

“Well we are married.” Came the response casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I got the message. What did they take?”

He stopped dishing out food to turn and give the handler a brief list of what he knew was missing. When he mentioned the empty space on the wall where a picture had been there was an obvious flinch and tightening of the other agent’s lips. It had been important to him. Clint felt almost bad that he’d been the one to deliver the news. At the same time, he was also trying to decipher if the married comment was a sarcastic or scathing one. He knew most of Phil’s mannerisms, but his superior had made sure to keep his tone neutral. 

They didn’t bring it up for the rest of the evening.

“Want some supper?” Clint gestured to the stove, and tried to ignore the tired smile that graced Coulson’s lips and how it made him happy he could brighten his day a little bit.

“I will go get changed.”

He’d inspected him already with a quick once-over, knowing that he was tired and sore, but other than that his boss was unharmed. 

After ten minutes, Phil came back out in a long-sleeved shirt with dark blue slacks. “You bought new sheets.”

“You didn’t have any.”

“They’re under the bin in the closet.”

He gave him a raised-eyebrow. “That is a ridiculous place to put sheets.” He said in lieu of embarrassment that he hadn’t looked very closely for them.

Phil didn’t feel the need to comment. 

They lapsed into a comfortable conversation about Coulson and Natasha’s latest mission, from what he could gather, they were keeping interested parties away from the hiding green menace and it was turning out to be a large pain in the ass. Clint tried not to relax into how domestic this all was, especially when he got to the part about when he went shopping and how stupid he felt when Phil pointed out the window and told him there was a place he could have gotten sheets a block away with an endearing smirk on his face.

Clint didn’t stick around after supper, and left Coulson behind with an odd feeling on the tip of his tongue. 

X

“Barton, Talk to me.”

He coughed roughly, feeling the metallic taste in his mouth and spitting it on the ground beside him. “Fuck.” He swore gracefully, trying to drag the air he’d lost back into his lungs. 

There was relief in his ear. “Status.”

“Bastard threw me into a goddamn Piano.” He growled.

There was silence for a moment. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that’s not how you use one.”

“When I get a hold of you, Sir-” He started to threaten good-naturedly.

“Hey, let’s save the pillow talk for later, 2 o’clock, Barton. I invited another party guest.”

“Fantastic.” He hauled himself to his feet and reached for his arrow just as another mutated brute came crashing into the window. In five minutes and one good hit to the ribs later, him and Natasha had the strange mutant on the ground.

“I’d like to know about what this ‘getting a hold of me’ entails, agent.” Coulson showed up a few minutes later with a crew, his same smiling mask on.

Sometimes he wanted to throttle the man, but at that moment the sight of him made the world tilt back on its axis properly once more, and he could do nothing but a tired shrug.

X

“Excuse me, sir…?”

“Mandatory holidays, Barton.” Fury said with that same exasperated voice he always had when someone asked him to repeat something. “You are to take the weekend off.”

He wasn’t stupid; they were trying to get rid of him. Mandatory his ass, he’d never been told to take a day off unless he was injured or he wanted it for personal reasons.

“Sir, you realize that I will just be on the Hellicarrier anyways, right?” He pointed out carefully, trying to get a feel for where this was going. 

“About that, go report to Agent Coulson.”

“Sir-”

“That’s an order.” 

He hated being dismissed like that, but he was pretty sure that Fury would give him a reason to take a few days off if he pushed it any further. He begrudgingly made his way to Coulson’s office. They’d already gotten over the whole breaking and entering fiasco and had worked together without incident since. In fact, he was starting to feel like there was something he was missing. 

“You’ll have to get groceries.” 

He stared at the proffered key-on-keychain and could put two and two together.

“Sir, aren’t you going to be using it…?” He took the key hesitantly, now really concerned as to what this was all about. 

“Yes, I am.”

Clint stood there, absolutely bewildered at the turn of events. He was to stay off ship until they allowed him back on and he was just expected to live at Coulson’s? Did Fury even know this was the plan? The other agent could sense his presence rooted into place and didn’t even look up from his paperwork. 

He offered nothing more except two more things. “That’s yours, don’t lose it.” And then after a pause. “You can move into the spare room.” 

He felt like this was probably not up for negotiation, and all responses got jammed up in production somewhere when he replayed the words ‘move in’.

“This is all happening so fast.” Clint joked, a little strangled but it was the one thing he managed to choke out, and he saw the telltale quirk of lips before the man at the desk smoothed out his face once more. “See you at home, sir.”

Once the door to the condo was shut behind him he strode over to the desk and pulled open the latch on the side to get the laptop from its drawer. He accessed the S.H.I.E.L.D database and logged on.

‘AGENT CLINT BARTON, ACCESS DENIED.’

His eyes narrowed. There was no reason, no protocol number, not even a leave of absence notice. All it said was access denied. He logged out and tried again, only to have the same page pop up when he tried to move the mouse again. He sat back in the chair slowly, and then pulled out his phone and dialed Natasha’s number. 

“Romanoff.” Came the curt greeting.

“Nat, why the fuck am I blocked out of the system?”

There was a pause. 

“I don’t know, Barton.” She replied with and edge to her tone. “But it may have something to do with your marriage you forgot to mention.” 

“Wh.. What does that have to do with ANYTHING? It happened a half a year ago!” He snapped without thinking. “If you know that then you’ve seen the report.”

“Clint, it’s on your file. When I pull you up in the system it says Agent Clint Barton-Coulson.” He could hear keys tapping in the background.

“WHAT?”

“Well what did you expect?” She retorted in exasperation. “You’re the one that didn’t sign the papers!” 

“I kept forgetting!” He lied easily, the anger making his words seem believable. “AND WHY DO I HAVE HIS LAST NAME?!”

“That’s a long time to keep forgetting you’re married.” She pointed out dryly, but he could hear the clacking of keys so he knew she was investigating further, easily ignoring the sir-name comment.

“Huh…” The sound stopped after a few more tense minutes, and he didn’t like the sound of it at all.

“What?”

“They have you listed as on vacation, going out of town for holidays.”

“Holy shit.” He started to freak out. “They’re going to hide the body and you’ll never find me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She snapped, but he could sense that she was considering it too. “What could you have possibly done to warrant an assassination?”

“Do I know too much?” He asked in wonder, trying to thin about a high-priority case he may have royally fucked up on without knowing it. 

“Do you know anything at all?” She shot back, and if he didn’t know her any better, he’d swear she sounded defensive and worried. “Listen, I’ll look into it, just try not to run off while I do so.” He didn’t even get a goodbye before the line went dead.

He threw his bag with his bow and a few of his other things he’d had in this quarters at S.H.I.E.L.D HQ on the bed in the spare room. They wouldn’t blow up Phil’s apartment, and he was sure Coulson would have something to say about them killing him off, wouldn’t he? He had already quietly accepted the fact that one day he may die during his time in the organization, but he had always thought S.H.I.E.L.D was more of an ‘get the hell out of here and don’t let us hear you telling people we exist’. 

Not that they didn’t have their dark side, mind you. Who was to say they wouldn’t order the one person he trusted to kill him in a twisted change of events?

He wandered back into the living area, surprised to find a new TV despite the fact that Phil probably hadn’t used the last one. 

He cautiously picked up the remote and turned it on, only relaxing when the second episode of Cake Boss came on without any upset. His eyes flickered back and forth to his phone, wondering if Natasha was okay or if he’d hurt her somehow by getting involved. 

It wasn’t until five when everything happened all at once. His phone went off with a text at the exact same time the door opened. He already had his phone in hand and the TV off by the time the intruder stepped into the home. He glanced down quickly expecting to see a ‘get the hell out of there’ instead of the cryptic ‘tell the truth, relax.’

Still, the message did allow some of the anxiety to leak out of him as Phil came strolling into the household. He glanced at the kitchen before he stood dutifully at the entrance to the living area. “No supper?” He inquired with what Clint could only call a kicked puppy look. Well, Coulson’s kicked puppy look which was really only a drooping of his eyes and a slight downturn of his mouth. “I was looking forward to a home cooked meal.”

Clint went to say ‘I’m not your goddamn wife, and how dare you tack your name on the end of mine you self-righteous-’ but he cut off his internal rant and squared his shoulders at the other man. “What is going on?” He demanded instead “Why was I kicked out of the Hellicarrier?”

“You’re on vacation, Barton.”

“Cut the crap, Coulson. I didn’t sign up for vacation and you know something.”

The way he’d snapped the other man’s name caused Phil to almost show a flinch of emotion, which meant he’d hit a chord somewhere behind the defense line. He was wound up tight, looking for any indication as to what could possibly be going on. Had someone died? Was he in trouble? Was PHIL in trouble? His stomach dropped at the thought; maybe he’d been kicked of duty BECAUSE of their marriage. 

“That all depends on how you respond to my question.”

“What is it?”

“Why didn’t you get a divorce?”

He ground his teeth audibly and all but growled at the other man. “Are you FUCKING kidding me? I’m being penalized about this?!” His knuckles went white as he curled them into fists. 

“It’s the reason why I requested time off.”

“Are you threatening me with no work until I sign the papers?” He felt himself begin to shake, his anger falling away into numbness. Did Coulson really despise it this much? That he would go this far? Or had Fury had something to do with this? Sure, he’d been kind of childish in the beginning when he had run off and not marched down to legal to ‘divorce’ Phil Coulson, but this was a bit extreme isn’t it? Why didn't he just ask?

“I’m not working either.”

He tried not to let the helpless confusion show on his expression. “What does that mean?”

“I want to know why you didn’t get a divorce. The papers are still legally binding since we used our real names. This causes me to believe there is a reason.”

He let out a full body sigh and ran his hand over his face tiredly. “I don’t know.”

“It was in your vows.” Phil spoke up after a beat. “You said you’d never let this go.”

“Yeah after you gave me the whole story about how I was your…” He would absolutely not say the word soul-mate. “I couldn’t exactly say nothing after that!” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Besides, someone would have to be crazy to not get a bit sentimental after your speech.”

“You still haven’t given me a reason as to why.” The handler pushed steadily, not moving from his spot where he had clasped his hands in front of himself and stood ramrod straight. The attention being directed towards him was unnerving.

He tried at a different angle when Hawkeye stayed quiet. “Did you mean what you said?”

“When?”

“In your vows.”

He felt his mouth betray him. “Yes.”

He had meant every word about how he felt around Phil. He had been completely honest and how his handler made this insane world more bearable. He was a rock, a solid foundation to lean on, and it scared Clint that he would actually want someone to be that for him, that he would need it. It terrified him to admit a lot of things he’d been feeling, and perhaps that was why he never did anything about it. He didn’t want to start something he couldn’t finish. 

He’d been denying his feelings since the moment they met. Pushing them away and trying to ignore them when they bubbled up. Like they had when his heart had fluttered when Phil looked at him in that chapel. 

“Then that is all I need to know.” And like that Phil walked into the kitchen and started opening the freezer to find something to make for dinner.

Clint hesitantly followed him inside. “That’s it…?”

“For now.”

“… How long are we on vacation for?”

“Four days, after that it is re-evaluated.”

“Why did you change my last name?”

Phil gave him a look, one of the ones he liked to give to the other agent when he was both amused and exasperated. “You gave me the idea.”

That was his fault, in retrospect. 

“Now what do we do…?”

The other agent gestured to a chair at the table, and the junior agent took it without thinking, too busy focusing on the answer. “We enjoy our vacation.”

He was really hoping enjoy meant something more than it did, and he hated how his mind immediately went there. 

As he watched the other man put together a meal (he’d offered but with a simple shake of the head he sat back down) and tried to think of what had anchored him so strongly to this man. In all accounts they were years apart, with only their jobs in common, different clearance levels, and they had different roles in the field. They had been so busy pushing and pulling in the beginning that they hadn’t even really noticed the friendship until it was right under their noses. Or rather, the younger man hadn’t. Who was to say what Phil saw?

He was attracted to the other agent, but not in a simple ‘you’re hot let’s fuck’ sort of way. The confidence, he figured, was what did it for him, and maybe he also enjoyed the feeling of being taken care of. The joys of relying on another person and knowing they had your back no matter what. 

Either way, on all accounts, he was screwed. 

“I don’t want to not be married to you.” He blurted into the silence softly. 

Phil had looked like he restraining himself from kissing Clint, so he grabbed the sides of his face and brought their mouths together. He tried not to feel anything, but at the very least it was a pleasure he hadn’t had in a long time, so he may have enjoyed it a bit more than he should have. 

Phil reached forward and turned the element off, and leaned his hands heavily on the lip of the stovetop. He stood like that, motionless for a moment, and then he meticulously relaxed each muscle until his hands were just resting there. Clint had seen that once before; right when he was sure Coulson was going to kill someone with his bare hands. 

The memory turned on light a flashlight; the older man standing above him with his hands over the wound, looking up at the culprit the other two agents were currently restraining. The blind rage that had caused the man to tense up had caused the knife to make an interesting turn, and Clint had been surprised that he could feel more pain on top of the bucket-loads he was already dealing with. Within his clouded mind he knew the only thing keeping the other Agent from murder was stopping the bleeding.

‘Oh’.

He stood up and by the time he was stable on his feet, Phil had turned his way, took a fist full of the archer’s shirt, and brought him close enough to breathe the same air.

“If you mean what you say then don’t do it half-assed.” He growled lowly. “You’re better than that.”

The electricity was in the air, Phil waiting for Clint to prove himself and Clint’s swallowing down his beating heart from years of practice so he could respond with an even tone. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted the truth, sir.”

The grip on him relaxed. “If I really didn’t want it I would have said no. I would never... I could have said no then.” The frustration was only outweighed by uncertainty. 

He’d seen so many things over the years; amusement, pain, irritation, confidence... The actions, the body language, he’d paid attention to it all. Not because he needed to know what Phil was thinking from a simple look; but because he watched him. He knew the man outside of work, and he learnt things that you couldn’t read in a file. He’d been there to listen to the accounts first hand, see the emotions behind the mask. 

What he wanted and what he knew he should do were two different things. 

The handler could sense his apprehension. “I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want,” He explained gently, as if talking someone down from a rash decision, “but if this is real, you have to let me know.”

Clint leaned in and rested his forehead on Phil’s shoulder, just missing his mouth, or chickening out at the last minute. He couldn’t be sure. It was a show of submission; that he was going to stop hiding at the same time as give into destroying the physical barrier between them.

He felt his lips ghost over the material there. “Sometimes I know exactly what you’re thinking, but when it comes to things between us, I don’t know if I see what I want to see or if you actually mean it.” He sighed. “I figured I couldn’t have nice things anyways... I’d just fuck them up.”

“I think we are all dark and damaged, Clint.” Phil replied softly in his ear, and yeah, it still had the same effect. He felt safe. He also felt like he couldn’t breathe. The weight and fear made looking Phil in the eyes impossible. “I’m afraid I could never be explicit with how I felt.”

“In this line of work, if we say it out loud we just jinx it.”

‘Talk to me, Barton.’

He turned his head and pressed a kiss into the junction where shoulder met neck. It was tentative, but it gave him the courage he needed when Phil relaxed into and wrapped an arm around his waist. He was never this much of a chicken-shit, but the thought of messing this up unnerved him beyond staring down the barrel of fifty guns. He leaned back; searching his superior’s face. When he found nothing but open affection, he let his face crack into an honest smile. 

“Because of protocol?”

“Because I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

“Oh, are you taking my chastity into account? Such a gentleman.”

They met half way, his hands immediately threading into Phil’s hair, mouths molding together in perfect sync. He sighed into the kiss, trying to keep himself in check when Phil pulled him closer still until their pelvises were flush up against each other. The solid heat against him sent a wave of pleasure down to his toes somewhere. He bit lightly onto the other agent’s bottom lip, eliciting a sigh from the other man. 

His hands roamed everywhere, tugging his shirt from his pants and reaching up underneath to run his palms across the other man’s back. Thoughts began to fizz out, until the only thing he could do was feel everything all at once. The warmth began to grow until he felt overheated and pent up. They broke apart for air only for Clint to get enough space to start undoing some irritating clothing. His partner grabbed him again and this time he had a tongue licking into his mouth and he didn’t suppress the shiver of excitement that traveled through his spine. He made an encouraging noise and reciprocated the assault happily.

He completely forgot what his hands were doing for a moment, instead fisting them into the shirt that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe combined. The thought made him grin. Their mouths slanting against each other, filled with something heavy and passionate.

When they pulled apart the second time, his eyes fell on the other man’s lips. “We should go-” He pressed his hips closer so Phil could feel how much he wanted this.

Phil caught his breath rather quickly. “We should eat something.”

“How can you possibly be thinking of food right now…?” Clint breathed in wonder, almost put out over the fact that his mind was obviously more blown between the two of them.

“I haven’t eaten all day. Besides, we have four days of vacation to fill up.” His eyes flashed with something before he turned back around. Clint just flailed his arms helplessly, wondering how he could go from white hot passion one second to practical the next.

“Four whole days… That’s a lot of time to fill up.” He recovered, but the lack of contact and distraction of food still stung a bit.

“I have the feeling we will think of something.”

He expected Phil to do well on that promise.

Dinner, or what he remembered of it, was both torturous and pleasant. He caught every chance to touch, never fully acknowledging it to the man across from him, and he had to physically refrain from running his foot up and down the instep of his partner’s leg. He felt like a cat, looking for any way to get attention and affection. The bastard soaked all of it up, but he played just as good as he got. He shifted his feet, brushing them against Clint’s before pulling them away as if he was just shifting and it was pure accident. The intensity of his attention, and the way his lips always seemed to quirk up at the corners. It was domestic; sitting there talking about mundane things, but it was all a ruse they kept up until the plates were cleared.

He probably could say he liked fuzzy penguins and Clint would just smile. 

“It occurs to me that we’re doing this backwards.” Coulson said after they’d finished one topic and were about to move onto another.

“The getting married and then the relationship part?”

The avid Captain America fan nodded slowly, taking a sip of his water and gauging Clint’s reaction.

“I’d like to think that the last couple of years have been a sort of precursor.” The archer pointed out with a shrug. 

“Still… It would probably be best to get to know each other before we start telling everyone we’re married. Or getting rings.”

The specialist nearly snorted. “Oh, you’re right. We barely know each other. And before you ask me something silly like what your favourite color is; it’s navy blue, except you love that silver tie you have for special occasions.”

He smiled slowly behind his glass. “I meant intimately.”

That shouldn’t have made butterflies erupt in his stomach, but he hid them all the same. “You mean trying the shoe on to make sure it fits?” He grinned, feral, and quirked his eyebrow. “I think you’ll fit just fine.”

He snorted lightly and got up to clear things away. “You assume it’s me that needs to fit?” He called over his shoulder.

Clint jumped to his feet to help clear things up, the question hanging in the air until the dishes were soaking in the sink and the table was mostly cleared. His body moved up against Phil’s side, as he turned the water off in the sink, like a magnet. “I assume you’ll prove me right.”

Which was what made it so easy, when the other agent turned to him he grabbed Phil's suit jacket and slid it off his shoulders. He stared into the other man's face as he did so, not once hiding anything. Once it was down his arms he had to lean in a bit more to take it off the rest of the way, they were flush up against each other for moments, lips millimeters apart, enjoying the close proximity and the promise of something in the air between them. 

He folded it up and placed it on the back of a kitchen chair, imagining the rest of their clothes leading a trail to the bedroom and Phil waking up to retrieve them. It was like one of those chocolate trails on Easter morning, except this one excited him much more than the few Easter's he'd spent at the orphanage.

He then silently unzipped his vest he'd worn to the archery range that morning and threw it unceremoniously on the floor. 

Clint had been standing there one second with his eyes trailing down the white dress shirt that had been revealed underneath the suit jacket, and the next he was up against a wall with a tongue slipping past his parted lips. The impact had hardly winded him; he just let it happen. The kiss wasn't so much of a mouth-meeting-mouth as it was a body-meeting-body. This one was beyond the others in intensity and passion. 

He forgot the reason why he shouldn't just rip the clothes off that were in his way, and proceeded to unbutton the obstacle that blocked him from the skin-on-skin contact he wanted. He wasn't exactly delicate when he pulled the buttons from their holes and pushed the next layer out of his way to get caught at Phil's elbows. His hands claimed their prize, sliding up the handler's chest and curling slightly to leave light white lines where his nails dragged down.

They broke away soon after to reclaim some oxygen and the other agent stared at him critically. "I underestimated your enthusiasm."

The Hawkeye pushed him away from the wall and backwards towards the bedroom door. "You obviously don't know hot you are."

The superior didn't look convinced, but that was fine. He was planning on showing him just how true that statement was as he kicked the door shut behind them.

He didn’t know what he wanted to do first, so many filthy ideas popping up helpfully, but Phil seemed to have an idea of his own, grabbing his wrist and spinning them around so Clint had his back to the bed. Lips met again, slowing things down and bringing them lazily back down from their high. He sighed into it, enjoying when deft hands massaged down his back and hit the tops of his pants and delving in to grab the skin there. The archer moved forward, pressing himself into the awaiting warmth as a positive sign. 

He was led back to the bed, fingers working impatiently on Phil’s pants, until they were unbuckled and unzipped and he was pushing them down along with the last barrier to what he wanted. His partner stepped away to remove the last of his clothing, and while he did that, Clint climbed onto the bed. They both stopped to admire the view for a few long seconds.

“Come over here.” Hawkeye said quietly, his voice rough with arousal.

Obliging, the other agent leant on the bed, but when he crawled over him he didn’t delve in for another kiss, instead he focused his attention on Clint’s stomach. He jumped at the first contact of a hot mouth kissing its way down his abdomen. His breath catching when Coulson lightly bit down just above his pant line, and he tried not to squirm in anticipation as hands wrapped about his belt loops and tugged. It was just enough to reveal another inch or so of skin, which was rewarded with another bite. 

He let his head fall back, breathing heavily through his nose in an attempt to calm himself. As much as he wanted to be ravaged, he knew this needed to be slow, to mean something. He trusted Phil Coulson, he wanted him so badly it was like a weight on his chest, but he didn’t want to rush this. He sat back and tried to hang on for the ride. 

A hand pressed down on his clothed erection and he couldn’t fight back the groan, he finally looked down and stared entranced as he was undressed, lifting his hips subconsciously to help the cause. He clenched his jaw when cool air hit his oversensitive skin, and he knew Phil was appraising his responses, tucking them away for later use. He leaned down and pressed an affectionate kiss to the inner part of his thigh, and Clint opened his legs invitingly. 

Pleased with the response, Phil laid across him between his legs with their bodies flush up against each other in the best ways possible. They both moaned quietly and Clint grabbed him and dragged him in for another kiss. It was hot and needy, and he tried to convey how much he wanted this all in one kiss. His hands tried to pull him closer, get every inch of skin on him as much as he could, and he could feel the smile against his mouth. 

He was so painfully aroused, and even breathing seemed to cause delicious friction between the two lengths. He ground his hips up sinfully, enjoying the low moan he’d pulled out of Phil’s throat. He wanted to flip them over, to crawl down and take him in his mouth and hear all the things he could make agent Coulson cry out, but all of the sudden the contact was gone. He opened his eyes that he didn’t know were closed and stared at him, panting hard. 

The higher-ranking agent simply smirked and then reached across him and pulled open the bedside table. Oh, right.

The lube cracked open and the specialist watched as his partner took a generous amount in his palm and the condom lay almost forgotten at his side. 

He pressed the swollen cocks against each other and began to slowly, leisurely, rub the lube around them, the motion becoming slick and easy. Clint couldn’t help the groan that came from low in his throat, or how he began to thrust up into that palm. They both enjoyed it for a minute before Phil began to shower his neck and chest in affection much like he had his stomach. He slung his one hand across the shoulders above him trying to ground himself back down to Earth to enjoy this for as long as he could, and the other joined his lover’s. 

When he felt himself climbing up that inevitable peak he stopped his hand and Phil’s. “I...” He tried out his voice, and despite stopping him, Phil didn’t look displeased at all. The blown pupils and red flush to his skin made the younger agent’s voice quiver. “I want you.” He concluded, both asking and answering.

“You want this?”

He nodded. “More than I’m sure is healthy.”

That caused a light chuckle, and then Phil was spreading his legs wider, and watching his face for any signs of denial. 

“Please.” He begged, absolutely wrecked. 

A finger traced his entrance, the slickness cold since he’d added more. He ground himself down, impatient and desperate, but he was massaged into relaxing before one finger slipped in. He hissed lowly, and the hand in him froze to make sure it wasn’t in pain. “I swear, if you keep stopping I’m doing to push you down and do this myself.” He threatened, sending his handler the best glare he could from his position.

“One day I’d like to see you try that.” Came the dry reply, but oh how he could sense the anticipation. The threat seemed to do the trick, and another finger was added and began to scissor gently. He worked him open carefully, only adding another finger when he was able to spread him without much resistance. Leaning down to press chaste kisses to his face, almost in mocking, Phil smiled against his mouth. He twisted his fingers and found his prostate, grazing over it the first time, and then pressing into it perfectly the second. 

Clint couldn’t breathe, and he saw white for a moment. “Oh, Phil, God, there...” He babbled nonsense as he continued to have this perfect man above him drive him crazy.

He reached for the condom the same time the fingers left him, and he despite the fact that his fingers felt thick and dumb, he was able to tear it open and push it down onto Phil’s length greedily. He enjoyed the gasp that came from his partner, and pumped his hand down it once for good measure. 

He lifted his hips, and Phil was against him, trembling with the urge to seat himself in completely. He felt the head press inside and he panted, He grabbed the arm that was holding the other agent up beside his head and squeezed. It wasn’t until he was fully seated that Clint had the coherency to wrap his legs around his waist and pull him in even closer. 

“Clint...” He felt him shudder, as Phil pressed his forehead to his shoulder trying hard not to lose himself. 

“This... Ah, I needed this.”

“Me too... I’m going to move now.”

Clint nodded, and the first slow thrust was like a burn, but a promising one that meant something amazing was soon to follow. He had no doubts that he would be taken care of, and thoroughly. 

He started off unbearably slow, getting used to the tightness and the overload of sensations, but then he was pushing into him with strong, accurate thrusts, grabbing Clint’s hips and angling him just so. The archer’s muscles were strung tight as he arched off the bed, sounds of pleasure falling from his lips. He urged him on, pulling him as close as he could without interrupting the speed, and whispered nonsense in his ear. 

He could sense the faltering in Phil’s movements when he started to get close, and he didn’t expect the hand on his cock until it was too late. It took two strokes until he clamped down and called out Phil’s name, muscles convulsing as he orgasmed so intensely he thought he would black out. His husband rode him out, milking his high until he finally came with a low groan and sunk down, using his elbows on either side of Clint’s shoulders to not fall on him completely. 

When he finally caught his breath, the specialist grabbed the sides of his lover’s face and kissed him as best as he could still boneless and breathless. He wished he could find words to describe it, but he just didn’t know how he could tell him so he just kissed it into him. He had to break apart too often for air, and his heart was still hammering, but the other man kissed him back just as passionately. 

They fell back against the sheets for a few moments before his handler caught his breath and got up to throw the condom out and come back with something to clean his partner up with.

“Mmm, shower in the morning.” Clint tried to reason with him but the other agent easily danced out of his lax attempt at a grab and cleaned him carefully. 

It wasn’t until he’d pushed the younger agent to sit up so they could get under the covers, and then threw them over the both of them, that he finally relaxed into his place beside Clint. The sheets were cool, but they quickly heated them up. The specialist threw caution to the wind and turned to wrap and arm around the other man’s middle, and resting his head on the pillow beside his. This caused Phil to huff a bit and then reposition them until he had his arm wrapped around Clint’s waist and the archer’s head was resting on his chest. 

Clint pulled his hand up and let his palm rest over his beating pulse, before turning his face and pressing a gentle kiss there. They laid like that for a white, and when the Hawkeye thought he heard breathing even out he spoke. “This seems a bit late, but I do love you.”

There was a smile in his voice, because he’d actually heard him. “I wouldn’t have married you otherwise.”


End file.
